


Arima

by FannibalMonica



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, M/M, Tristan/Galahad(Arthurian), Tristhad Week, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:27:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6602080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FannibalMonica/pseuds/FannibalMonica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After many years of fighting for the Roman army in Britain, the Sarmatian Knights return to celebrate their long awaited freedom. However, they find out that before they can be set free from their service to the Romans, they will have to leave for one last mission. One they are not likely to survive.</p><p>Galahad does not take the news well. Tristan seeks to comfort him, in his own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arima

**Author's Note:**

> According to historians, the Sarmatians spoke the Scythian language. Arima is the Scythian word for "One"
> 
> Despite the historical inaccuracies of the Arthurian universe, I will try to keep some accuracy when it comes the culture of the Roman Britain

"Yeah, yeah, we're all going to die someday. If it's death by a Saxon hand that frightens you, stay home."  
Those words stung harder than the Roman's betrayal who, on the day they were to be released from their service to Rome, had sent them on a suicide mission instead.  
Galahad was no coward. All the years he had thought, risking his life for a people that was not his own, in a land where he did not belong, had it all been for naught? He dreamt of a life where he would no longer be under the heel of the Roman Empire, where he could see home once again. He dreamt that after so long, he could finally find a measure of happiness.

Upon receiving their last orders, the celebration of their return to the castle had quickly been put to an end and Arthur and his Knights had returned to their chambers to rest and prepare for the journey ahead. But Galahad would find no rest tonight, Tristan's words burning into his skull as he paced the floor of his room. He had been taken from his family when he was still a child, to fight in a war that was not his own. He had no love for fighting or killing, yet he had done what was needed to survive. That he was not willing to embrace death with a smile as Tristan seemed so eager to do, made him no lesser man. 

Hoping to clear his mind from his troubled thoughts, he returned to the the castle's tavern where the usual customers still lingered, singing old songs and playing their game of dice. Galahad paid them no mind and absently took a seat by himself, and ordered a pitcher of honeyed wine. He was not overly fond of drinking, unless there was a special occasion, but tonight he felt like drinking might be a better option than pacing his room until he bore wholes on the ground.  
He swallowed the first cup without tasting it, the revelations of the day having left a bitter taste in his mouth already. The joy at the prospect of freedom had turned into ashes in his mouth, after the Knights of Arthur had discovered that instead of the long awaited freedom that had been promised to them, their loyaly would be repayed with another mission, one from which they would likely not return. He felt betrayal and anger burning him from the inside, and kept drinking in the hope the wine could help somehow. He did not notice when the drink began to dull his senses, nor did he know how much he had drank until the the glass was suddenly slipping from his hand and his attempt to catch it was far too slow and clumsy.

He had expected the glass to land on the floor and shatter but instead a hand snaked up behind him and caught it before it hit the ground. He looked up to see a familiar uniform and braids swaying gracefully, almost covering the scout's features as he moved. "I think you've had enough to drink" Tristan said calmly, his voice so quiet that only Galahad would have heard him. 

Galahad blinked, trying to fix his gaze on the scout's features, his words taking a moment to sink in. There was no commanding tone, nor judgement ins his voice, his expression was unreadable, but it infuriated Galahad all the the same. "You!" He spat, his voice almosta shout, "You do not give me orders!" He rose, too quickly he now realized, and the room began spining as his balance faltered. He tried to reach the table to steady himself but a steady hand caught his forearm, another grabing his shoulder, catching him in a firm grip. His cheeks, already flushed from the drink, took an even darker tone from the embarassment. He was thankful that Tristan didn't mock him for his moment of weakness, at least not in a way that he could see. 

"Why don't I take you back to your room?", Tristan said, even the same quiet and even tone he had spoken before, as he began leading the younger knight towards the garrison. It wasn't really a question. They both knew that Galahad could not get back on his own in the state he was in and, even with Tristan's firm grip around his shoulder, Galahad found his limbs felt heavy and awkward.


End file.
